Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Big
things and small things, important and trivial things. Most things in my life
go missing at some point so I liberally employ the theory “Patience. It will
turn up.” Yet slip into internal panic mode when my misplacements (see lost)
affect someone else. My usual M.O. is to keep it on the down low.

And
so it was recently with P!NK tickets having ordered them for three girlfriends
and myself back in September. Costing a small fortune then but now replaceable
for over $1,000/per., the fact that they hadn’t arrived put me on high alert.

“Your
tickets were delivered by UPS on 10/4/12. Left on your porch.

Regards,

Jeremy, TicketsNow”

“I
never received them! What do we do?” I frantically typed back but vaguely
remember an October email referencing such.

(Repeat
one hundred times: Don’t sweat the small stuff. It’s only a concert.)

Though
when you’re trying to avoid something, it seemingly becomes what everyone wants
to talk about. That was happening. P!NK,
P!NK, P!NK. Can’t wait for P!NK!!!!!

It
wasn’t until UPS and my stupid Blue Tooth compatible car out-ed me while
driving with one of the friends. The phone conversation was broadcast for her
ears too.

“We’ve
tracked the package containing your tickets. It was delivered and we have a
satellite picture of the truck in front of your house.”

“There
was nothing on my porch. Why didn’t I have to sign for something so valuable?”

“I
don’t know but to move forward with a claim, you have to file a police report.”

I was forced to explain the whole story to my friend.

“It’s only a concert but I’m finding it pretty
creepy they have a satellite photo of your house. What if you answered the door
in your pajamas? I think I remember you mentioning that the tickets came.
”

“Crap.
They didn’t say I signed for them but what if I did? Do you think they are
trying to set me up?”

Did
I have a memory of this or not? Didn’t matter. I didn’t have them.

Marching
into the podunk police department in our sleepy little village, I told my story
to Officer Fife (Laird) and I became just another porch burglary incident
during a two-week period in October. Apparently, we give “good” porch!

“There’s
nothing we can do. They were probably sold immediately for quick cash. If you
get them reprinted, your only problem will be getting security at the venue to
remove them from your seats.”

The
saga continues because I have reprints but 8 people with be showing up for only four seats to the
hottest ticket in town…

To
me, the scariest part is "Big Brother” watched the whole thing. What
else have they seen? And why didn’t anyone catch the creep swiping stuff off my
porch?

*********************************

Residential Burglary Reported:
Police Blotter

TUESDAY, FEB. 19

Pricey Pink Tickets Stolen

Police said four tickets to a
March 9 Pink concert worth a combined $1,180 were stolen from a resident in the
0-100 block of Blodgett Avenue by an unknown person in October, after UPS
delivered the tickets but before the resident picked them up.

The resident recently called UPS
to check on the status of the tickets, police said, after wondering why it was
taking so long for them to be delivered. UPS told the resident the package had
indeed been delivered in the fall.

***************************

Head over to Yeah Write. We are celebrating Flood’s
birthday with all kinds of awesome reading for you.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

This is a Trifecta sequel from a fictional story started awhile ago. 33-333 words for the 3rd definition of exhaust:

3a:
to consider or discuss (a subject) thoroughly or completely

b: to try out the whole number of<exhausted all the possibilities>

*********************

From:
Gabby B

Wed
2/18/13 12:41 PM

To:
William G

Dear
Will,

If
you were standing in front of me at this very moment, I would take both your
hands in mine. After pausing for a few moments to collect my thoughts, I’d shift
my eyes from your lips, where they perfectly line up, to look directly into yours.

You’ve
had a grip on me for so long; I have no memory of a time you didn’t completely
fill me. Sometimes it felt too much, not enough, too long and just right.

One
of us always holding on with white knuckles, timing was a stubborn acquaintance.
Being reckless more often than smart. Discounting sage advice, thinking "rules" never applied to us. Blind to everything but each other.

I love,
loved, being your distraction and you were mine alone. But being distracted from
our “real” lives isn’t helping anymore. Now it just hurts.

Don’t say we haven’t tried everything. We incessantly exhaust every conceivable
option, every single opportunity, every single time but we still haven't figured out a single version of “us” that's tangible. That ever really works.

What was once exciting and exhilarating is preventing us from being entirely satisfied with anything. Who, or what, is physically before us. Letting us move forward. Be present.

Now, it all seems futile.

Nothing left to grab.”

That’s
what I’d tell you if you were here.

Please
let go,

Gabby

************************

From:
William G.

Wed
2/18/13 12:46 PM

To:
Gabby B.

No.

************************

From:
Delivery Status Notification

Wed
2/18/13 2:48 PM

To:
William G.

Email
could not be delivered as addressed <gabbyb@gmail.com>. Message delivery failure.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

You know what Sunday means to me...stream of consciousness writing linked up at Jana's Thinking Place. Jana's totally optional prompt this weekend is "It's like going to..."

I will try to explain my current obsession in 5 short minutes, in bursts of unedited writing. So here goes:

*********************

It’s
like going to…

A
voluntary “torture chamber” and losing your mind for 90 minutes.

It
feels like Death Valley in July when it’s really only 105 degrees.

It
smells like the most disgusting pair of boy’s gym shoes.

It’s
feels like your heart will never stop racing uncontrollably or
your head won’t shake the dizzies.

It’s the same no matter where you go or whom you
do it with. It will be exactly the same every single time. You know what it’s
like and you do it anyway.

It’s like bathing in your
own sweat. The kind that runs down your face, past your eyes, into your mouth. Drips
off every fingertip. The end of your nose.You want to wipe the sweat. That’s the
challenge but if you don’t challenge yourself, you can’t improve.

You think there's no
way you’ll wear a little bra and skin-tight shorts like the girl in front of you!
But now you will because it makes perfect sense.

It’s like going into fight-or-flight
mode and all you can think about
is escaping so you push that out of my mind.

“This is simply a
fidget.” You say to yourself. “So don’t fidget then.” You answer. Quiet the
internal chatter.

Mind over matter, mind
over matter, mind over matter.

And
eventually the transformation happens.

You start looking forward to class and the chance
to reflect alone for 90 minutes. You want
to go! You embrace this new addiction you’ve tried to hate but you can’t hate
something that feels so good in it’s completion even though you dread every
moment leading up to opening that door.

It’s a love you want to hate but you don’t.

It’s Bikram yoga.

It’s
like going into a “torture chamber” that’s never felt so good. When it's over.

Saturday, February 16, 2013

After
a lovely and romantic Valentine’s Day dinner, we still had some time before
catching the train back home from Union Station. Slightly giddy from wine, we
ducked into a hip restaurant, squeezed in between a group of men to grab two
seats at the bar and ordered.

“What’s
the deal with the nametags on all those guys?” My husband asked nodding his
head towards the group.

“Well
there’s only one way to find out.” I answered.

I
leaned around him.

“Happy
Valentine’s Day. Why are you wearing nametags?’

“We’re
here for an event.” Said one man rather abruptly quickly leaving the bar. Drinks
in hand, the rest of the group followed.

"Did I offend him somehow?""I don't think so?"

Glancing around, we saw several people with their name and a number pasted to
their chests. I’m much too curious sometimes for my own good. I had to
know so I waved over the bartender.

“What’s
with all with nametags?”

“They’re
holding a speed dating event tonight in the bar. Every four minutes they rotate
partners for the next hour.”

“Oh!
So that’s why that guy was wonky. He was nervous. This should be interesting to
watch!”

And
every four minutes when the whistle blew, our heads would snap around to see
the new rotation. Everyone seemed engaged in lively conversation. Smiling. They
looked pretty good at it actually. The mismatches were a riot.

As
spectators, we decided to play a few rounds of speed dating ourselves making up
all kinds of wacky questions and answers.

“If
you actually said that, I would never give you my number!”

“Well
you’re not as funny as you think you are!”

We
weren’t serious at all. It was really fun.

On
the way home, we caught the milk run; a train that stops at every station. We
didn’t care at all. We decided to play a game we hadn’t in a long time called
“If I were hit by a meteor, would you…”

Date? Who? What? Where? When? How? Anyone I know? Would you marry again? How
would your life be different without me (assuming the other was gone solely due
to natural disaster always using a meteor)? Etc., etc., etc.

Thursday, February 14, 2013

In
preparation for writing today, I went back to see what I wrote on Valentine’s Day last year. There were probably only four of you who read it (or my blog in
general) back then and understood my thoughts on the “big” day. I do remember being a little grouchy about
the whole thing.

I
prefer random displays of affection.

Spontaneous
anythings on an otherwise nothing
day.

Grand
gestures? Not necessary.

Plus,
I don’t like being told what to do (like celebrating something just because someone
say so) but last year my feelings for, arguably, the sweetest day of the year
were quickly changed the moment my doorbell chimed in the middle of a purely
average day. That memory has been tucked away, with pleasure, since then.

So I
woke up this morning, very early I’ll add, to find myself excited for today. It
was unexpected because, as I said, this day doesn’t hold any more weight than
any other day of the year for me.

I
have a confession to make though. I’m also feeling guilty about being excited.

I’ve
been asked on a date, a rendezvous for dinner at an Italian restaurant in the
city, when we usually stay home and I cook. It’s always exciting to be in the
city. It's equally exciting to be on a date.

I bet
there will be a heartfelt (more likely inappropriate) card for me with
handwritten sentiments inside. I love that.

And
I think there will be a gift…

But
we don’t “do” gifts for Valentine’s Day.

How
do I know this?

I
was looking everywhere for the PINK tickets I bought last fall (which I paid
$250 each and are not going for $800 a piece) since the concert is quickly
approaching. And I looked everywhere. I tore my desk apart. I tore his desk
apart. Oops!!!

(I
lose things. A lot. This is not a surprise to anyone who knows me or reads my
blog. I don’t like it. It stresses me out but it’s me. Part of living with me
is knowing and understanding that I spend time almost everyday looking for
something (usually important) and it’s gotten worse since I hit my head last
summer)

That
was yesterday afternoon and I’ve purposely stayed away from the family room,
which houses his desk. I’m ignoring it as best as I can because I don’t want to
look again to see if it’s gone.

What
if it’s like in the movie “Love Actually” where Emma Thompson’s character finds
a necklace in her husband’s coat pocket and gets a CD instead for Christmas?

What
if that happens to me?

What
if he took it to work for someone else (the silver box from a store he doesn’t usually frequent but has lots of things I love) and at dinner he only pulls out a card?

That’s
why I’m feeling guilty. I busted his surprise. It was a mistake. No, REALLY!!!

Obviously,
I know it’s for me (it’s gorgeous). It is a wonderful, unexpected gesture that means something to him. He will want me to be surprised and just as excited. He knows I don't/won't expect anything.

I want his eyes and his heart filled with anticipation and excitement as he presents me with the box. I don’t want to burst that bubble or see his disappointment that I found it ahead of time.

Monday, February 11, 2013

The
text came through at 12:30 am on a Sunday evening. Just about anything, at that
time of night, makes my heart convulse. I groped for my phone.

“I
need to talk to you. Can I come over tomorrow?”

Ugggggghhhhh!
I rolled over attempting to ignore the message knowing slumber wasn’t
returning anytime soon. I was way too exhausted, now exasperated and extremely
hurt. Plus, I knew he was waiting for my reply.

“Sure.
We’re leaving at 1:00.”

I
tossed all night remembering how, just a few short months before, two beautiful
children fell more in love with each passing day. It was one of the sweetest
things I’d ever seen. As summer friends, it had been coming for years.

But
school starts up again every fall and long distance relationships are never
easy especially when you’re young. There are far too many distractions.

Now,
I was emotionally maxed out from a hellacious weekend spent listening to,
crying with and emotionally stabilizing my daughter (who was away at school). It
was her first, horrendously painful, inexplicable, dumping by a boy. A boy I
loved and who felt like a son.

That
next day, I anxiously waited for the clock to chime 1:00.

Why
does he want to talk to me?

What
am I going to say to the boy who crushed her heart into pieces so small I
worried they wouldn’t go back together?

Just like a rolling reel from a bad movie, her
sobbing screams played over and over in my head. “Mom, it hurts. It hurts so badly.”
“Now I know how Robbie felt when I broke up with him!”

It’s
difficult to explain to anyone how someone they love, who they thought loved them, now loves someone else. Let alone your kid. There
are no words to express the pain I felt for her.

Watching
him come up the walk, I met him at the front table. Hugging me, he said he was sorry; that he'd made a mistake. Then he just listened as tears streamed down his face. I said something along these lines.

“You
are so young. Why are you falling in love so fast all the time? Slow
down. We all make mistakes. Learn from them. You will experience heartbreak someday; unfortunately that’s a promise
because we all do. Then and only then will you realize just how fragile a heart
is and you’ll take better care because you’ve felt the pain yourself. But you two
will know each other for the rest of your lives; your children will play together,
so you need to figure out how to move past this. Time will help.”

I
gave him a big hug telling him to come by next Memorial Day.

That
conversation was two and a half years ago.

This
weekend, my daughter showed me an email she received from him just a few days
ago. It said something along these lines:

“I
finally understand how you felt 2 ½ years ago when I f$#ked up really bad that
weekend in October. It sucks and it hurts. I’m so, so sorry for what I did, how I treated you and
how you felt. I get it now. I’m just happy we’ve been able to get back to being
‘sort of’ friends. Summer’s coming! Woo hoo!”

It
does totally suck and it hurts badly.

Sometimes I hate the idea of what goes around comes around.

And being right has never felt so awful.

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This
is an easy one because receiving physical, material things is not
important to me. At ALL. I’m not into gifts and am much happier if I’m giving
one to you. Watching someone unwrap a gift I’ve chosen makes me tingle with
excitement and anticipation. That’s enough present for me.

Since
I am playing along today at Sasha’s place and the theme is “Oh No You Didn’t
Gifts”, here is what I came up with in preparation for the “big” day. The following are things that either I wouldn’t like or would be a waste of money because they aren’t important to me.

10
“Oh No You Didn’t Gifts”

1.The latest/greatest thing in the world of technology. I
would give it to you because you like that stuff. I only take hand-me-downs and
I’m totally okay with that.

2.Money.
Never give me money for two reasons. I do better not having cash on hand (and I
have my coffee shops that will float me a loan). I have memorized pin and
credit card numbers, expiration date, security code etc. for every piece of
plastic we have. And I have a love/hate relationship with money anyway.

3.Another frying pan. So I got one once, didn’t ask for it though I believe I accepted it
graciously, but it’s a cast iron beauty and I use it all the time. Actually, no
kitchen items at all as gifts.

4.Expensive jewelry. I don’t wear it. It usually sits on my messy bathroom counter when it
should be safely tucked away in my jewelry box (and then you get upset thinking
I’m going to lose it (which I could) or that I’m not wearing it (which I
should)).

5.Books.Well, you could try but you really don’t know what I’m reading. I suppose I
could give you my password to Amazon and you could lovingly empty my shopping
cart. Now that would be great because it’s full!

6.A Cat.Just because…and you wouldn’t anyway.

7.Chocolate/Candy/Cupcakes. Giving up sweets for Lent is always a tremendous
challenge. I couldn’t eat them if you were so inspired to gift them.

8.Dinner Out at the Fanciest Restaurant in Chicago.I wouldn’t appreciate it
enough because of the cost. And that’s not to say I don’t like FABULOUS food
because I do. Just not worth it to me.

9.Carnations.Now I’m just getting picky at the end of this list because I’m running
out of ideas of gift no-no’s. I don’t care for Carnations but I DO love flowers
though not on Valentines Day. I love getting them on random days (except last
year those roses were the BIGGEST surprise I’ve received in a long, long time
but it won’t work this year because now I’m probably expecting them).

10.Card Without a Handwritten Note.

If
you must get me something, a massage, lingerie, perfume,
pretty (costume) earrings, an orchid would all do the trick.